


Woo Me Until the Sun Comes Up

by poprocks



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Groping, Making Out, Semi-Public Sex, Teasing, making out in a dark corner, not totally sex and not totally public tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 00:48:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11817717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poprocks/pseuds/poprocks
Summary: Every word out of Peter's mouth was somehowteasingher – but her preferred method of shutting him up wasn't necessarily appropriate in front of the others.





	Woo Me Until the Sun Comes Up

**Author's Note:**

> tbh i am a big fan of gamora getting riled up enough to make moves and not just have it be peter coming onto her. ANYWAY here's a prompt fill for **citizenscully** : _"we have to be quiet."_
> 
> hilariously i feel like anything i've written for them that's been sexual hasn't been anywhere near explicit since the first thing ever. i rated it mature just to be safe! so here's some semi-sexual-but-not-quite stuff for this fill!

The biggest benefit of operating out of the _Quadrant_ thus far has proven to be the added space. The months spent on the _Milano_ were a special level of hell, given how the Guardians were practically crawling on top of each other the entire time, and tension ran higher the less space they had between them. Things were messier with five sets of belongings to account for, five sets of dirty dishes, five sets of laundry – the list goes on. 

Gamora disliked it immensely.

While Thanos's accommodations for his children were never what she would call "gracious," they were private – enough. She's certain he realized his personal assassins were (somewhat) less likely to kill each other prematurely if they weren't all crammed into one, small space; they had individual quarters, though that didn't guarantee they were separated. It merely took more effort to seek out another child for something backhanded. 

"Dishonorable," Gamora had called it when she'd seen (on more than one occasion) one of her siblings fall prey to another with a knife in their backs. 

(Gamora could have stepped in. There were times she could have stopped it.

Unfortunately, she knew all too well mercy would have only brought something more horrendous down on her own head.)

But when it came to the Guardians, the _Milano_ had been a new slice of fresh aggravation _daily_. Peter is disorganized and messy by nature; Rocket leaves odds and ends and _explosives_ all over the place; Drax has little to clutter their shared space, but he's terrible at clearing away his dishes; and Groot... well, it wasn't a problem until he started to shed petals everywhere.

All of this combined is why Gamora is beyond grateful for the room provided to them on the _Quadrant._ The ship itself is still filthy (what more could she expect from something housing Ravagers?), but it's spacious. She can turn a corner without stepping on one of the others, and when she needs quiet, she can find it. She has her own _quarters,_ there's a dedicated training deck, and, though it's not terribly relevant to her own interests, the small bar aboard makes for an ideal gathering place for them all. It's diligently well-stocked, but given the Ravagers' lifestyle, she's not surprised. The _Quadrant_ is nowhere near as large as the entirety of the _Eclector_ , but that's likely for the best; what would they have _done_ with such a massive ship?

But, nonetheless, the new space affords them the opportunity to spread out.

Peter shows her all of the most private locations – places near the engines where little could be heard over the roar of pistons and drives; a viewport at the stern with the most glorious vantage of the stars they fly past; and a nook near the mess just out of sight.

The latter is where Gamora has currently yanked Peter. He'd been taunting her through their entire dinner, his hand sliding over her leg as he carried on a perfectly normal conversation with the others at the table. He was so infuriatingly _casual_ about it all, even as he trailed fingertips up the inside of her thigh just below the hem of her skirt, and though Gamora had hardly taken offense, she also hadn't been inclined to let him continue. Every word out of his mouth was somehow _teasing_ her – but her preferred method of shutting him up wasn't necessarily appropriate in front of the others.

They'd excused themselves somewhat early on, and before they could make it much farther down the hall, Gamora half-shoved, half-guided Peter into that particular nook. With that delightfully infuriating grin on Peter's lips, she pins him against the wall, fingers curled in his dark t-shirt.

"What's up?" he asks brightly, that faux-innocence in his widening eyes. "You okay? You were lookin' a little flushed back there."

"You, Peter Quill," she says lowly, sliding her fingers higher, up into his hair, "are far from subtle."

"I'm plenty su—" He's interrupted by the drag of Gamora's teeth along his clavicle when she drags down his collar, a sharp inhale catching in his lungs. " _Fuck_."

She loves how easily she can derail his flow of well-practiced words, and all she has to do is drop a few kisses up along the sensitive column of his neck. She intends to _mark_ him now that they have some semblance of privacy, to leave bruises and bites as a form of revenge for his teasing.

"—Gamora," he breathes, letting his head fall back to expose more of his skin to her.

Gamora smirks. "As you were saying?" 

"Huh? Saying— saying what?" 

"That's what I thought."

Her tongue follows the reddened trail left by her teeth, her hand slipping under his shirt, along his hip. He trembles under her palm, reminding her exactly how responsive he is. 

She contents herself with turning him into a veritable puddle of goo in that little nook, eventually starting to undo his pants, and she knows in the back of her mind that they should relocate, go somewhere else, but it's hard to reason that out when Peter is gasping and biting his lip and rocking so needily towards her hand—

" _What?_ No, Groot, we're not cookin' an orloni for dinner next time."

"I am Groot?" 

"Because they're all— _chewy_ ; it's disgusting. Some of us gotta taste that shit."

Gamora and Peter go completely still at the sound of voices wandering from the mess. They're hidden from the corridor, but on instinct, Gamora shoves Peter harder against the wall, her hand clamping immediately over his mouth.

He seems about to make a startled noise of protest, but Drax cuts into the conversation.

"On my planet, we have a very satisfying recipe for orloni."

"Is it still chewy?"

"Yes, but it becomes a pleasant texture when combined with the correct flavor."

"There's no way you're convincin' me to put that crap in my mouth."

"I am Groot!"

"For the last time, _no_ , Groot! What's Gamora told you about askin' over and over?"

Against her, Gamora can still feel Peter shaking, his breathing a little rougher as he tries to get himself under control. She peers up at him, eyes narrowed. 

"Still?"

Peter fixes her with a look that says, _"You think I'm doing this on purpose?"_

... The others seem to have _paused_ in the hall, and distantly, Gamora half-focuses on their conversation. She sighs under her breath, and when she shifts her leg, Peter bites back a groan.

"Peter," she hisses softly, "we have to be _quiet._ Or do you want them to find us here like this?"

Peter's concentration wavers, and he looks oddly pensive – almost like he's weighing whether or not he's been caught in worse situations.

... He probably has, now that she thinks about it.

She _sighs_ shortly in the quiet. "You're absurd."

From under her palm, she feels Peter grin.


End file.
